The so-called leaders brought feudal democracy over and over again. Common people had
accepted this situation. After a little poison, now and then, that put them in sweet dreams, they
were ready to take a lot more for sweet death: there was no end to their misery.
The sight of a very old tea-hut brought Rafeel back from his thoughts. He recognized the old
man working there. It was Rasoola, who had run that hut since the childhood of Rafeel. He was
closing his hut when Rafeel reached him. "Can you give me a cup of tea?" Rafeel asked in the
native accent. Rasoola turned his sun-burnt wrinkled face, and squinted his eyes to recognize the
stranger.
"Chacha [uncle] Rasoola, why this unfriendly behaviour? No, you were not like that---"
Rasoola was baffled.
"I am Rafeel, son of Murad Khan," explained Rafeel.
Rasoola rushed towards him saying: "Oh, you naughty boy of Khan's, my hero! Come close to
me."
He hugged him warmly and started kissing his head. "You have become so weak and old, how
strong you were."
After that passionate encounter, he sat down on the big bedstead and in the dim light of fire,
Rafeel keenly observed the face of Rasoola. There, hidden in his wrinkles, he saw the centuries
of deprivation and hunger that was the fate of third-world countries. They had to work in the
scorching sunlight trying to satisfy the ever-empty bellies of their offspring…
Rasoola made a special bowl of tea for him and wiping the sweat off his forehead, he said:
"Rafeel, we will talk a lot tonight."
"No," replied Rafeel, "I want to see my home, I can't wait."
"Rafeel, have you forgotten that this is the time of year when hungry wolves come out of the
mountains?"
"Even then Chacha, I will go."
"I will tell you a lot of stories."
"Stories of what? Of wolves?"
"No, I will tell you the stories of men who are more vicious than wolves, and you will